


Allhallows Eve Love

by kahlannightwing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gift Exchange, Halloween, M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahlannightwing/pseuds/kahlannightwing
Summary: Crowley has a plan, and Aziraphale's plans to sit and drink with his best friend are upheaved. What surprise does Crowley have in store: a trick or a treat? Aziraphale finds the best treat at the end.A soft, fluffy fic forsungmee. I've always loved their fluffy art, so it was a delight to give them something fluffy in return! :D For the Trickety-Boo exchange.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	Allhallows Eve Love

"You're quite sure you don't want me to bring anything, Crowley," Aziraphale confirmed, staring out his shop's window without actually watching the passersby. It being Halloween, he was not expected to open today, joining the numerous small businesses that generally took the day off or closed early. Aziraphale was glad for the lack of distraction. He had planned to spend the evening sipping tea while reading an indulgent penny dreadful.

It seemed Crowley had other plans.

"Quite sure. Quite sure." The rushed words through the telephone were breathy, as if Crowley were distracted or exerting himself to some other effort. It set off alarms in Aziraphale's thoughts.

"My dear, are you scheming?" Aziraphale held the mouthpiece away slightly so he could aim a dubious glare at it. He was sure his disapproving tone, at least, translated over the line.

"Ngk," Crowley confirmed, "course not! You're always so suspicious! I'm not always scheming…."

Aziraphale remained silent.

"Okay, sometimes I scheme! But not nearly as much as I used to and not for a quota anymore! You're hardly one to talk, doing random miracles—" There was a pause, a inhale of breath, and then Crowley continued. "Listen, I'll come to yours and pick you up and take you to mine."

"Oh, we're not spending the evening here?" Aziraphale bit at his lip as his brow furrowed. That had been unconsciously rude. Crowley's place was "I mean, that sounds fine, my dear. What time?"

Crowley's voice was unruffled as he replied. "Sevenish."

"On the dot?"

"Angel," Crowley heaved a sigh over the phone, "there is no 'on the dot' when it's seven- _ish_." He emphasized the last bit. "But yeah, on the dot."

Aziraphale wriggled his shoulders and smiled into the phone, and then he frowned. "No costumes?"

"You won't need a— You don't need to wear a costume. Just an...old fashioned celebration. Telling scary stories."

Aziraphale gave the phone another dubious look, and knew the exact benign expression Crowley would give back if they could see each other. "Alright, my dear. Seven on the dot." He hung up the phone, replaced his white gloves, and went back to his cataloguing.

It wasn't something he needed to do — books were always where they were supposed to be unless a particularly bored Crowley had an itch to rearrange — but something he enjoyed. Plucking a book from a shelf three rows in from the door, he ran his hands carefully over the leather-bound cover and smiled.

"Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect," Aziraphale read. It was not coincidence that he'd happened to reach for the first edition book by Robert Burns. There was a specific poem, the tenth one to be precise, that he wished to indulge in. It was perfect for this time of year.

Cradling the book carefully, Aziraphale moved to his desk, clearing a spot with one hand and setting the book down gently. Carefully, he opened the book, taking the time to admire the preface before he turned to page one hundred and one.

The poem was one of Burn's longest, and the title was simply "Halloween". Aziraphale enjoyed the pleasant simplicity of it. There was no telling of candy-giving to costumed children and certainly no press to buy decorations that would be out of place the rest of the season. Instead, the focus of the times was to parties among friends and small communities. While lavish celebrations did happen, the focus Burns always applied to the more peasant life, one he had lived through, shone in the poem.

Aziraphale especially enjoyed the footnotes. He absorbed the poem first without them, and then added them in his second reading, eyes darting from the poem to the words below. He finished long before it was time for Crowley to pick him up, but he continued to peruse the other poems before he closed the book with a happy sigh.

Replacing the book, Aziraphale busied himself by making sure he was ready. His coat was tucked around him, waistcoat straightened as he fumbled his fingers over the button. Aziraphale pulled out his pocket watch, flicking it open to check the time before clicking it shut and replacing it.

He didn't need to bring anything, but perhaps some snacks? No, that would be terribly rude. He was a guest, and as the host Crowley would supply. Crowley made a good host whether it was inviting him out to the eat or simply for evening entertainment. Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion this was going to be both of those.

At five till, Aziraphale was outside the bookshop, hands primly clasped in front of him. He paid no mind to the humans passing him, on their way to their destination with heads tucked down into coats. The wind had picked up as the sun set, and the clouds overhead would lend to an appropriate 'dark and stormy night'.

At seven on the dot, the Bentley smoothly rolled to a stop in front of Aziraphale, engine idly a warning as to the speed it would soon be traveling. Stepping from the curb to grab the handle, he slid into the passenger seat and smiled, closing the door and clutching the handle as his usual lifeline.

"Angel," was Crowley's greeting, the lines of his shoulders tense. His sunglasses stared straight ahead, and he pulled out and onto the street at an insane clip.

Aziraphale felt all his words dry up in his throat. He barely registered how fast they were moving. "Crowley," his voice squeaked.

"What," came the snapped reply. Crowley still did not turn to look at him, but his lips were thin and tight.

"Uh, you said no...costumes?" Aziraphale stared at Crowley's neck, where a black ascot hung over his silver shirt, tucked under the lapels until they bent over it. The black jacket was familiar as were the black leather gloves, though the jacket was unbuttoned to reveal the waistcoat underneath, a color to match the ascot and jacket. The only thing that seemed unchanged were Crowley's glasses and hairstyle.

"Yeah," Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, eyes unreadable behind the glasses, "no costumes for you."

"But...you are wearing a costume." Aziraphale stuttered and then amended himself again. "You look nice. I just—"

"I haven't worn anything like this for a while, but, uh—" A series of noises issued from Crowley's mouth that weren't words. "--and here it is. I have a costume."

"You look nice." Aziraphale forced a smile and hoped it didn't look forced. Crowley was nervous, but Aziraphale didn't have the right to make him feel more nervous. The clothes just brought back a memory he'd rather shove back into the recesses of his mind. "So this is….?"

"A Victorian-themed Halloween."

"Right." Aziraphale settled more comfortably into the Bentley's seat, staring out the front window and allowing the realization of their speed to ground him. His hand tightened on the door. "I was just reading a poem about that."

"Ah. Uh, lots of reading about that stuff. I got the food too. The food and the games."

"You do?" Aziraphale shifted into a higher pitch in his delight. "Costumed and treats?" He wiggled his shoulders and grinned. "You're spoiling me!"

Crowley's shoulders rose, hands relaxing so his grip wrapped less towards the windshield and more toward his body. "Deserve it."  
Aziraphale pursed his lips, considering for a silent moment before he beamed at Crowley and decided that, yes, Crowley's neutral expression and stiff mannerisms just wouldn't do. "That's so sweet of you!"

Crowley's entire body cringed, drawing in on itself without a drop in the speedometer's needle. "Ngk," and various other noises slipped from his lips, all with the downward turn of his lips that spoke of disgust. "Ssstop."

The involuntary hiss brought a chuckle from Aziraphale as he watched Crowley's spine try to twist in ways that weren't human. "What kind of treats?"

The change in topic was so instant that Crowley seemed to melt in his seat. "Ah, no spoilers," he teased, his face relaxing into a grin. "But just a little of this and that." One of his hands waved at his attire. "It's all a theme, you see."

"I see." Aziraphale stared down at his own clothing and then Crowley's. That was why he hadn't needed a costume. Crowley did look nice, and it was clear he'd put effort into it. Halloween had never been a holiday they especially celebrated except to drink and socialize. This was new. This was something Crowley cared about. Aziraphale smiled. "It sounds like it will be a marvelous time."

Crowley made a noise of assent as he pulled up to his Mayfair flat, parking the Bentley and getting out smoothly. Aziraphale followed and then hurried after Crowley as he marched toward the front door. The ride up on the elevator was silent, Crowley and he staring straight ahead, but Aziraphale was eagerly imagining what kind of surprise was awaiting that would make Crowley so tense.

There was no wasted time as Crowley strode to his door down the hallway of the top floor. Aziraphale wrung his hands in front of him as he waited, and when the door swung up and he was able to step into the foyer, Aziraphale was not left disappointed.

The interior had been redecorated, and the furniture, wallpaper, and various knickknacks sent Aziraphale back through time to a place where he had enjoyed tea and biscuits with affluent authors in their drawing rooms and discussions held after dance lessons at the Hundred Guineas Club. It was evidenced by his clothing alone that period of time was one of his favorites throughout six thousand years. Crowley had used his living room to recreate it.

Aziraphale stood in the doorway, the door still open behind him, with his hands clasped in front of him, eyes alight.

"Letting the draft in, angel," Crowley commented wryly.

Aziraphale's eyes snapped over to Crowley, who's grin matched his tone. "Oh! Yes." There was no draft, but Aziraphale closed the door firmly. "This is— Crowley this is marvelous! It's...it's quite magical."

"Ah, a little of this and—"

"Oh, no, you rearranged your entire space for this. I know how you feel about your space!"

"Just the living room," Crowley mumbled.

Clapping his hands together, Aziraphale grinned and stepped fully into the room, taking a walk around the area as he looked over the decorations and ran his hands across a doily laid out over a beautiful wooden table. "What other surprises do you have for me, my dear?"

"Ah, not telling," Crowley declared. He was back to his regular strut as he moved toward the small kitchen. Aziraphale heard the sound of a fridge opening, the soft clink of glass brushing together, and Crowley swept back into the living room, a chilled bottle of red wine in his hand alongside two stemmed glasses. "First, we get fabulously drunk!"

"Do we now? That sounds like most evenings we spend together." Taking off his coat, he made a motion with his free hand to miracle it onto the coat rack by the door. He smoothed his arms down his shirt sleeves and sat down on the tan, flower-patterned couch with its plush cushions and curves. Crowley really had done everything so accurately.

"Then," Crowley interjected, moving to the couch and setting the glasses on the table, "we will play games."

"Games?"

"Games." Crowley popped out the cork with a simple gesture in the air and poured slowly into both glasses. "Do you remember Halloween of 1876 at Balmoral Castle?" He flopped on the seat beside Aziraphale and took a deep drink.

Aziraphale side-eyed the sly look Crowley was giving him, hiding the corners of his mouth curving upwards behind his wine as he allowed it to breathe. "I'm afraid I wasn't there. I was near Johannes Brahms as you well remember, awaiting his First Symphony."

"Ah, yes. Have to have your symphonies. Fourteen years he spent on that!"

"It's a work of art, Crowley," Aziraphale chided. "What about Balmoral Castle?"

Crowley waved his free hand in the air. "Queen Victoria had a party with Beatrice and Jane. Anyone who was anyone attended. They had the brilliant idea of marching in procession out to the grounds, circling the castle, and lit a bonfire. Then this fellow wearing a demon costume cavorts out driving a cart with spirits all around. You know the kind with the flimsy wings?"

"Sprites? No fairies!" Aziraphale's lips are puckered as he tries to recall the event.

"Yeah, fairies! Cart had an effigy in it, and it was tossed into the fire! Then there was music and dancing all night!"

"Crowley, are you— That was a public scandal! Why the papers called it pagan!"

"Did they?" Crowley smirked. "How terrible! She recovered. I mean, they all recovered. It wasn't the biggest scandal. I mean, my plan was—"

"I knew it was you!"

"Hah! I was the demon, but they called me a hobgoblin in the papers. Was a good bit of fun, all those people getting up to evil."

"It was hardly—" Aziraphale cleared his throat as Crowley glanced at him with lowered brows. "Quite evil. I would've had to stop you if you were there."

"Ah, I would've tempted you with the delightful dishes there, angel. Imagine it," Crowley began, gesturing in the air with a sweep of his hand, "Roast partridges, pudding, barmbrack cake—"

"With the hidden objects inside," Aziraphale squealed, feeling the smile stretching his face. "Oh! I do miss those."

The smile Crowley wore was entirely pleased with himself. "Do you? I think I might have one...lying around somewhere."

"Oh, you horrible tease." Aziraphale's hand waved in the air and then flopped onto his lap. "Can we have some now?"

"Before dinner? Won't you spoil—"

"You've tempted me, foul demon! I want the cake now!"

Crowley laughed, the sound ringing out in the loft. "Alright, alright! Impatience is not a virtue." He kicked up his legs and rose however, moving into the kitchen and returning with a perfect and decadent looking barmbrack cake.

The shape was traditional, in the o-shaped loaf pan, and the raisins stood out, evenly distributed on the moist brown cake. It lacked any kind of frosting, but Aziraphale knew the sweet flavor inside didn't need an additional layer of sweetness.

"You remember the tradition?"

"Of course I do, Crowley!" Aziraphale scoffed. "Whoever takes the slice with the toy inside is said to have good fortune come to them."

Crowley grinned. "Then let's see who gets the fortune, hm?" Raising a hand, he twirled his wrist and a cake slicer was in his hand. A quick stroke through the cake and he had portioned a piece off for Azirapahle.

With a sound of delight, Aziraphale grabbed the firm cake with his hand and took a bite. He made another noise, of delight, and stuck his fingers into the uneaten portion, pulling out a plastic figurine of an angel. Swallowing the bite, Aziraphale gave Crowley a smirk. "Oh my. Who would have guessed I'd have gotten this?"

With another flourish, Crowley sat the cake down to be devoured at Aziraphale's leisure. "Not me!" He was smirking too. "Fortune will smile upon you!"

"It already is, I think," Aziraphale responded. He took another bite of the cake and then was silent as he ate. Feeling Crowley's eyes on was a familiar sensation, and one that warmed him as always. To be the sole focus for an entire meal of someone who's attention could shift so rapidly was surely a compliment. Aziraphale enjoyed basking in Crowley's gaze like a snake in sunlight, which was an apt analogy.

When he was finished, he picked up a miraculously available napkin and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. There was some cake left, but leftovers were always delightful. He glanced at Crowley, smiling as he held out his wine glass for a refill.

For a moment they sat in silence on the plush couch, eyes meeting over glassware as they sipped at their drinks and both recovered from the cake.

Crowley was the first to break the silence, setting down his glass. Reaching under the table where previously nothing had been, he pulled out a glass bowl. He set it on the table and stared at Aziraphale, obviously waiting.

"Oooh, nuts? I thought chestnuts roasting on an open fire was for Christmas."

Crowley shook his head, chuckling. "No, angel, these are the special nuts for Halloween!"

Aziraphale's brow furrowed as he tried to recall, past centuries of memories, this particular tradition. At least Crowley had narrowed it down to the Victorian age, though the edges of such times were fuzzy. Truly they'd never ended for Aziraphale. They were so comfortable.

"Oh, wait, are these the ones you burn? The ones…." Aziraphale trailed off, reaching out a hand to grasp a nut and bring it closer. "The ones you burn for...compatibility?" He'd quite forgotten that a lot of Victorian Halloween traditions were built around romance. He simply couldn't fathom that Crowley might be doing a recreation of that! More than likely, he was just amused by all the superstition only allowed on this one night.

"And friendship," Crowley hastily confirmed. "Depending on how the two," he expounded as he reached for a matching nut, "react in the fire means that the two people are...meant to be good friends or should part ways."

"Part ways?" Aziraphale felt how round his eyes had become.

"Well not— I mean, it's just— Uh, it's just a game! Doesn't mean anything. Nuts are nuts; they can't tell the future!"

"Of course!"

Crowley reached again under the table, pulling out an iron frying pan with a wooden handle. "Right. In the pan they go." He tossed down his own nut and held it out to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled, amused as his own chestnut clattered noisily and rolled to nudge at Crowley's. They both looked ridiculously lonely in the pan, but once the game was done, he was sure he could suggest roasting the rest as well.

Rising to his feet, Crowley swaggered past Aziraphale, circling the couch to a wall that had been white with nothing adorning it and now held a modest fireplace, already alight with warmth Aziraphale felt on his cheeks as he turned to follow Crowley's movements.

"Oh! How nice!" Clasping his hands together, Aziraphale stood, wine glass in hand, and stood beside Crowley as he thrust the pan over the burning wood. Aziraphale leaned forward, brushing Crowley's shoulder with his own. "Now what were the rules again?"

"Uh, ngk…. Well, I think you have to watch how they roll around, and if they crack or not."

"Cracking is bad, right?" Aziraphale focused intently on the nuts, which began to shiver in the pan.

"Yeah. Means the two aren't compatible. And I guess the movement tells you about the people."

"Oh, mine isn't moving much at all, but yours is hopping around!"

"Eh, yours is moving!"

"Not as much as yours!"

The two chestnuts collided in the pan before resting against each other, trembling. As their outsides turned darker, neither of them made a sound beyond the steady rattling of their shells on the pan.

"I...I don't think they're cracking."

"Nope."

Aziraphale turned his head, staring at Crowley with a soft smile curving his lips. "How fortuitous."

Watching Crowley's throat bob, Aziraphale licked his lips as Crowley's mouth opened and closed in silent response. He knew Crowley was aware of his gaze. His brow was furrowed, teeth catching his bottom lip as if the chestnuts required his full attention.

"Are you going to burn them, my dear?"

"What? Ngk!" Crowley hissed as he pulled the pan out of the heat, rolling them around with a frown as Aziraphale giggled. "They're not burnt!"

"Or cracked," Aziraphale agreed. He plucked a nut from the pan, bringing it close to his face so he could smell the roast. "Oooh, I do love that smell. Can we do this all winter?"

"Yeah. Whatever you want."

Crowley's response was soft, but when Aziraphale looked over, Crowley was holding his own nut between two fingers, attempting to crack the shell between his teeth. "Crowley! They make nutcrackers for those!"

The grin on Crowley's face was triumphant as the shell split between canines that were sharper and harder than normal. "I got it," he insisted. "Let me get yours."

Aziraphale stared at Crowley's mouth, trying to get a glimpse of those teeth, and then swallowed and held out the nut in his palm. Without a word, Crowley picked up the nut, placing it between his fang-shaped canines and cracking it expertly now.

As it was set back inside Aziraphale's palm, Crowley cleared his throat. "All done."

"Yes. Quite. Thank you." Aziraphale tore his gaze away from Crowley's lips and to the cracked nut. He exposed it from its shell fully, popping it into his mouth and crunching away with a happy moan.

"Uh," Crowley mumbled, standing without eating his own nut. "One more game. I mean, one more, unngh—"

That was a strange sound, but among Crowley's collection of onomatopoeia, it wasn't the strangest he had produced. Aziraphale smiled. "I'd love another game, and then maybe a break for more drinking and cake?"

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley nodded eagerly, standing and wiping his hands down his pants. Aziraphale highly doubted his hands were dirty.

Standing alongside Crowley, Aziraphale ran his hands over his lapels and smiled. "What game is it, my dear?" Crowley seemed particularly tense today, which at first had been understandable since Crowley had changed his own appearance and that of his home to suit this event. The evening was playing out smoothly and Aziraphale was enjoying himself, so calming Crowley seemed like the best course of action.

"Ah, yeah, the mirror game!" Crowley turned, his long legged swagger taking him away from Aziraphale before he could inquire what he meant.

Walking back to the couch, Aziraphale finished the wine in his glass, pouring himself another and topping off Crowley's abandoned glass. Sighing happily, he breathed in the smell of the wine, holding it in his hand without partaking yet.

"Here we are," came Crowley's bright chirp as he reentered the room, holding a simple rectangular mirror under one arm and an apple in his hand.

"Oh, that mirror game." Aziraphale frowned. "Crowley, that's superstitious nonsense. Why, they thought it was a spell," he tutted.

"Whoever would've put the thought of spells and pagan witchery in their heads for a holiday, angel?" Crowley smiled crookedly, balancing the mirror on a convenient nail in a blank space of wall. "We both know spells are just a play on semantics. Different words for the same things."

"We do miracles, my dear. We certainly do not perform spellwork," Aziraphale insisted, though he did come to stand beside Crowley in front of the mirror. "Are you expecting me to do this? I think you should."

"M-me?" Crowley turned his head from adjusting the mirror, eyes wide behind his glasses if Aziraphale could judge by the height of his brows.

Aziraphale nodded, smiling pleasantly and not at all as if he were turning this "spell" on its head as part of his own plot. "Well, I am certainly not engaging in such an occult activity, my dear."

"You're ethereal," Crowley reminded himself.

"Exactly. Besides, it's only fair you eat the apple."

Grimacing, Crowley held up said apple, letting the firelight glisten off its red skin. "Do a temptation one time and no one ever lets you live it down."

"You were proud of that one."

"I'm proud of all of them." Crowley tipped up his nose in mock offense.

"So you should eat the apple."

Crowley stilled, which looked exactly like a snake seeing unfamiliar movement and taking a moment to assess the situation. There was a crinkle to the corner of his eyes that was the narrowing of them. Aziraphale had stared at those sunglasses for thousands of years. He couldn't read every expression, but many were betrayed by Crowley's facial tics. "Okay," Crowley drawled.

Turning toward the mirror again, Crowley turned the apple in his hand, sighing as he stared at Aziraphale through it. Aziraphale blithely smiled back, beaming bright with absolute innocence. The way Crowley's body angled toward him said that Crowley didn't believe that innocence for a minute.

"Alright, so what is supposed to happen is you bite into the apple and you'll see, uh, someone over your shoulder."

"Oh? What does that mean?"

"What does what mean," Crowley hedged.

"The person you see over your shoulder."

"....Doesn't have to mean anything."

"But...it does," Aziraphale pushed, still smiling as he raised one brow.

"Yeah. Yeah it used to." Crowley bit into the apple, staring at the mirror with his sunglasses intently.

Aziraphale couldn't tell where his gaze was, but he didn't hesitate to shift himself so he was staring into the mirror over Crowley's shoulder. "You don't seriously believe I never attended any Halloween parties back then do you, Crowley?"

"Ah, no." Crowley frowned. "You're a real bas—"

"Is that any way for my future husband to speak?"

As Crowley whirled around with a squeak, back pressing into the mirror with a clatter, Aziraphale laughed. It was a good belly laugh, bouncing around the walls and causing every candle to glow brighter.

"Y-you—! Angel, you—" Crowley's brows drew down, nothing reflecting behind his glasses. His voice pitched lower, into a rumble. "It's just superstition."

"That you planned to use to fluster me, my dear?" Aziraphale reached out, unaccountably bold, to press a finger against the tip of Crowley's nose. "I got, as they say, the drop on you."

Wrinkling his nose, Crowley heaved a sigh. "They don't say that anymore."

Aziraphale turned on his heels, ignoring the words as he marched back to the sofa and refilled both of their glasses. It was time for more wine and cake. "I do appreciate it though. You doing things...my way."

"Your way," Crowley croaked, leaving the mirror to cross to his wine glass. He picked it up and drained it in two long gulps. He didn't even twitch as it was refilled by a smiling Aziraphale.

"Yes, my way," Aziraphale explained as if the statement had been a question. "The...the right way, I think." He beamed at Crowley. "I won't pile on the compliments or you might get huffy—"

"Huffy?"

"--but this is...exactly what I needed. I had wondered."

"Wondered?" Crowley's head was jerking as if he couldn't keep up with the conversation. "Wondered...what?" His voice still sounded strangled.

"Well…." Some of Aziraphale confidence slipped as his fingers worried around the glass and he took a fortifying sip. "I just…. I wasn't sure I could…." Heaving a sigh, he forced a tremulous smile. "Would you come closer, my dear, if you're not going to sit?"

"Uh," Crowley drew out even as he stepped in closer to where Aziraphale sat, "yeah. I'm here. What is it? I mean, spit it out already."

Aziraphale smiled, reaching out with a hand to grasp Crowley's own. He felt the skin underneath his palm flinch, lax as the expression on Crowley's face. "I wasn't sure we could do this."

"This?" Crowley shook the hand that held Aziraphale's. "Hold hands? Uh, I mean, it's fine."

"It is nice, isn't it?" Leaning forward, Aziraphale set his glass on the table. "Will you come sit down? I would like to, um— Well, I think it would be quite nice— Oh, bother!" Aziraphale frowned as he stared between his knees.

He felt the couch sink down next to him, Crowley's grip sure in his hand as he kept ahold of him. "I know you're flustered when you start quoting Winnie the Pooh."

Aziraphale let out a surprised laugh. "Oh, don't even pretend you've read those books!"

"Watched the movies. I mean, under extreme duress."

"Extreme— You're ridiculous!" Aziraphale smiled as he gazed at Crowley, able to see his eyes through the lens of his glasses now. Squeezing Crowley's hand, Aziraphale rested his free hand on his lap. "Is— Do you want to _just_ do hand holding?"

" _Just_?" That was a squeak as Crowley's eyebrows rose above his glasses' frame again.

"I wasn't sure, well, if you'd ever considered kissing. It's a very human thing. But we have...human-shaped bodies."

"Yeah...we do," Crowley agreed. He was very still and not a muscle twitched.

Aziraphale wasn't one for reading emotions in Crowley. He could get a sense of it from humans, and obviously Antichrists. It was different when it came to Crowley...or even other angels. Luckily, that meant they couldn't also read his emotions.

"So...kissing. Yes or no?" Aziraphale wanted to keep it simple even as his hand clenched at his pants leg.

"Yes," came the soft reply as Crowley stared at Aziraphale with an intensity Aziraphale could see reflected through his glasses. Lifting a hand up, he removed his glasses, setting them on the table without breaking gaze from Aziraphale.

"Good." Aziraphale's hands rubbed across his pants before he gave a smile that felt sickly with the way his stomach twisted. Leaning forward, he watched in fascination as the vertical pupils expanded outwards until they were almost round. "Perfect," he breathed, ignoring the confused furrow of brows as he leaned forward to press his lips to Crowley.

Neither of them moved for a while, and then Crowley made a tiny sound in his throat and there was pressure on Aziraphale's lips. Tilting his head, he met that pressure by deepening the kiss. Crowley's lips were warm on his own, sliding as Crowley opened his mouth to breathe, lips still touching.

The kiss was an exploration, Aziraphale thought. The break allowed him to consider how Crowley's body was angled away from his, hands not touching any part of Aziraphale. He couldn't help it. Aziraphale giggled.

"What?" Crowley immediately jumped back, eyes wide as the yellow sought to encompass the whites of his eyes.

"No! No, it's— I was just thinking of how silly we're being."

"Silly?"

"Oh, yes, my dear. We've existed for so long. We understand each other very well. We know what we like and dislike, and yet we're both so nervous about this." Aziraphale waved a hand between them as a way of explanation.

"Oh…" Crowley grinned along with Aziraphale. "This is new territory for us. It's fair!"

"I suppose it is." Aziraphale reached up a hand, running the back of it over Crowley's cheek. He marveled at the flush that rose on his cheeks. The way he lowered his lashes. Aziraphale knew if Crowley spoke right now, it would be flustered noises. "I like kissing you."

"Like kissing you too, angel."

"Would you like to do more?"

"Ngk." Straightening, Crowley ran a hand through his head. Aziraphale watched his throat bob, drifting his hand down to the collar of his shirt and running it over his ascot. "I want to remove your bowtie."

The strangled way Crowley spoke made Aziraphale's gaze drift from Crowley's neck to his eyes. Crowley's eyes were intent on said bowtie. Smiling, Aziraphale kept his hand on Crowley and nodded. "Only if you're gentle," he teased.

"Hah!" Crowley's shoulders eased, a smile on his lips as he reached with both hands to delicately tug at the bowtie until it came undone. His hands smoothed the ends down over Aziraphale's chest and lingered there, staring.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and had to take in a breath as Crowley's head snapped up, the whites of his eyes swallowed by yellow. "Would-would you like to...remove my waistcoat and shirt?"

"Don't think I've ever wanted anything more," was the sincere response.

Aziraphale felt a blush on his cheek and darted his eyes down, fingers gathering up the soft material of the ascot and carefully unwinding it from Crowley's throat. He remain silent as he slid it from around Crowley's neck and tossed it to rest on the back of the couch.

"Gonna take us forever if we—"

"We have forever, don't we?"

"Angel…."

Aziraphale smiled softly, pressing his forehead to Crowley's as he marveled at how much love swelled in his heart for his companion. "Is it okay to say it? I know this is...new."

Crowley's eyes widened as his throat bobbed again. "Y-yeah. Say whatever you want, angel."

"I love you."

Crowley sucked in a shaky breath, smiling tremulously. Aziraphale could practically feel Crowley get warmer as he leaned against him. "Mmm, those are...nice words. I, um—" He laughed then, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair and mussing it just the way Aziraphale liked. "Love you too," came out in a rush.

Aziraphale chuckled, not giving Crowley time to retort to the laughter before he was kissing him again. Wrapping his arms around Crowley, resolved to celebrate the rest of Halloween with the best treat he'd had in six thousand years.

**Author's Note:**

> I told my rp friend that was the slowest I've written Aziraphale and Crowley undressing themselves, and that also seemed a good place to pause as well. I hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> Of course this is yet another fic I researched. ;)  
> Sources:  
> [the book to confirm the page number of Robert Burns, Halloween](https://archive.org/details/cihm_39559/page/n109/mode/2up)  
> [ About the poem](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halloween_\(poem\))  
> [the actual poem](http://www.robertburns.org/works/74.shtml)  
> [About Victorian Halloween games](https://curiositiesog.wordpress.com/tag/victorian-halloween-games/)  
> [Details concerning the party Crowley mentions](https://www.mimimatthews.com/2015/10/18/a-victorian-halloween-party/)


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